and may they be defined with kisses
by sakiena
Summary: they'll stop the world for each other one day


Maybe she'll never be able to tell why she dragged herself to a boy who saw the sunshine for the first time after a sinner's winter when he looked at her.

What she could tell is that he has deep honey eyes. They sparkle a lot. She's been noticing him lately, realizing her perspective of the social pyramid was naive and close enough to ruthless. She was growing, blooming like the flower he keeps on calling her.

She moves in her own way, but there was one time he told her what her name meant. He said it was noble, and that he thought the dictionary was lying, that it should be filed under perfect.

Her slim, dainty hand tossed her pale auburn curls over her shoulder. She said she knew. And then she smiled, genuinely, sincerely, and pecked him on the nose with strawberry-colored lips.

The everlasting heat struck the couple, both attempting to fall sleep on the boy's bed with the Californian summer creeping under their skin. There's the whir of the fan and the occasional, slight breeze, but neither provides comfort.

His dark amber hues, tired and gorgeous, are locked onto her own emerald ones. Little did she know, he found them radioactive, intriguing, elegant, beautiful. He could go on and on about her, and he'd want her to hear it all.

Their bodies are aching but they would probably stop the world so that they could stare at each other as long as they please.

Her voice is melted ice when she speaks.

"I'm sorry for bothering you, Stiles."

He chuckles and he wants to kiss her.

"You never did."

A feminine digit reaches over, traces his jawline. He relaxes under her touch, needs more of it. Her whole hand cups the side of his face, and then his grips hers, laying adoring pecks along her fingertips. Her breath catches slightly and she's almost wistful.

"The nightmares that bad?" he asks, his voice dripping with concern. His lips continue to drag across her skin and she wishes that they were placed on her own pair. Instead of initiating action, she nods, cutting her teeth into her bottom lip. Her heart's racing, erratic and eccentric. "There's too much blood. Too much death," she responds, her voice low enough to rumble. It makes her want to punch herself in the throat but to him, she's an angel.

"I know, Lydia. I know."

He should say her name like that more often.

"We'll get away one day. You and me. How does that sound?" he promises, his tone full of playful vigor. Her lips sprout into a real, actual smile. There's a small fire in her chest and it makes her want to cry from joy.

"It sounds perfect," she nearly giggles.

The redhead leans over, kissing the corner of his mouth. She feels the corner turn up, and then he's moving her so that their lips would finally align. It's chaste and warm and sweet and the moon and stars watch over them. If she didn't know any better, she would say that she was in love.

They both mentally agree that they break away way too soon, so they come in for another. He gently flips her onto her back, hands on her curvy waist, his own figure on top of hers. Their kiss is deep and nice, super nice, extremely nice and overwhelming. The contact is split in half once again, but it leaves them in laughter, both believing it was too good to be true.

If you told either one of them that they would be making out in the middle of the night in his bed a year ago, they both would've died from a lack of oxygen.

His head dips into the crook of her neck, and she automatically runs her fingers through his brunette strands. She quickly pecks his forehead and his left hand searches for her right. He finds her, all over again, and laces their digits together, and they're both serene.

His mouth lands onto her cheek, surprising her with a sloppy kiss. She gasps jokingly, digging her nails into his flesh as punishment. He mewls, and she kisses it better. His lips trail up her face, spreading sparks and hearts and flowers and stars and everything in between.

They haven't been this happy in a while. And they don't plan on forgetting their first taste of happiness that occurred at four in the morning with proof that opposites are not as opposite as others think.

They fall asleep, sweating but content and smiling.


End file.
